


The Lover

by agentsofthemcu (TheFallenArchangel)



Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: A new meaning for Danny's tarot, Biting, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Bruises, Danny takes care of the Horsemen, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Laughter During Sex, M/M, More Guilt, Or at least he tries to, Painplay, Unhealthy Relationships, almost but not quite love, trying to fix things with sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenArchangel/pseuds/agentsofthemcu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all come to Danny. </p><p>For different reasons and with different needs, but they all come to him eventually.</p><p>"What do you need?" He asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lover

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. Not even a little bit. It just kinda happened.

They all come to him eventually.

For different reasons and with different needs, but they all do.

* * *

Dylan's first.

He knows their leader's not okay, know he has nightmares of the safe, knows he tries to drink them away some nights. So when he finds him in the library downing what must be his fifth or sixth shot, he's not overly surprised. What does surprise him is what comes next.

He stands there, listening quietly and letting the guilt eat him alive as Dylan tells him in painful detail what it feels like to drown. He stays rooted to the spot as he staggers to his feet and approaches, stepping into his space with an entitled ease that twists in Danny's gut. 

"What do you need?" he asks, voice small and shaking and wracked with the guilt the both of them place upon their own shoulders.

He doesn't answer, starting, with steps that betray that he's not as drunk as first assumed, to his room. Danny follows without argument.

Dylan chokes him, pinning him beneath his weight and counting out the seconds in a gasped whispers, the occasional number punctuated with a sharp thrust into him, hitting  _that spot,_ making him writhe and jerk even as his vision starts to dim.

He wills himself to stay quiet, not that he actually has the breath to get out a word, determined to make it to the end of this countdown. He doesn't know if it's because his eyes lose focus or if his face changes to fear or if maybe his color shifts, but Dylan lets him go just when it gets to be too much. Just before he feels like he might pass out, the grip on both his throat and cock loosen and he comes so hard it almost hurts. The clench of his body pulls Dylan off the edge just a second later, and after a few short thrusts, the older man comes soundlessly inside him.

He didn't make it even close to three hundred seconds, and he can't quite tell if that fact makes Dylan feel better or worse.

Dylan collapses on top of him, already drifting off, and Danny doesn't complain, just drags a blanket on top of them and lets himself all asleep.

In the morning he slips out of the bed, out of Dylan's room before he wakes and back to his own, where he searches his closet for something that will cover the purple hand print on his throat.

* * *

Pain brings Lula to him.

It didn't take long for Jack to fuck up, to stagger back to the safehouse at three in the morning reeking of sex and foreign perfume. His warning back in the magic shop in Macau did nothing to stop the tears and pain when she threw him out of her bed and wedged a chair under the doorknob so he couldn't pick the lock.

The next time he goes out, she goes find Daniel. He's standing at the window in his bedroom, shoulder wedged against the wall as he watches Jack's motorcycle vanish in the distance, his face unreadable.

She walks in without a word or knock, not waiting for permission, and moves to stand opposite of him. He tears his eyes from the glass to look at her, reading what she needs of him in a little more than a few seconds. Lifting himself off the wall, he turns to face her more fully.

She reaches out for his waist, but he catches her wrist in his hand.

"It won't help." He tells her, and he's speaking from experience, "It won't make it feel better."

"I know." She says, and he hears the quaver in her voice, but she doesn't pull her arm back from him, and the silence hangs for a moment.

"What do you need?" He finally asks, voice quiet. She tilts her head up to meet his eyes, and she's on the brink of tears.

"Make it stop hurting. Just for awhile." The request is small, plaintive.

He nods, lets go of her hand. "Tell me how."

She reaches out, more sure this time, and tugs his shirt over his head.

Lula hurts him. She gets the satisfaction of tearing him apart in the way she can't Jack. She scratches red furrows into his chest, neck, and stomach, leaves purple bite marks on his shoulders and collarbones. She draws blood from the curve of his hip and the juncture of his neck.

When she's had her fill of his pain and he's trembling, tears spilling over his cheeks, she loosens the ropes she's tied around his wrists. He pushes away her hands as they go to soothe his wounds, pushes away the almost-guilt he can see in her eyes. Instead, he takes control, flipping them and sinking into her with little preamble, fucking her like he's using her.

For just a few minutes, he can make her forget. That is, until she spasms around his length and he spills inside her, both of them crying out names that aren't each others.

In the morning, she gets her revenge in the form of the visible twitch in Jack's jaw as he watches them both emerge from his room, covered in marks that neither of them try to hide. 

* * *

A strange cocktail of guilt and anger brings Jack to him.

The sleight slams his bedroom door open shoves him against the wall in the span of just a few seconds, and for a second Daniel's not sure if he's going to punch him or try to fuck him. It takes him by surprise when instead he kisses him. It's a parody of a kiss, a shadow of affection  ( all teeth )  but he submits beneath it, and when he pulls back he can see the pain in Jack's eyes, far too old to belong to someone so young.

"Danny, I-" He tries, voice breaking as he tries to decide whether or not he's making an apology or a threat. Danny quiets him with a squeeze to his hip. 

"What do you need?" He asks. 

Jack doesn't answer. 

A moment later and he slowly lowers himself to his knees. His eyes stay turned upward, looking for any sign that this isn't okay, but Danny can see some of the guilt be replaced with arousal as his pupils blow wide and so he doesn't argue.

Jack makes quick work of his jeans and boxers and takes Daniel's cock in his mouth with the ease of somebody who knows what they're doing. As it turns out, this ease is justified, because in mere minutes he has Danny on the edge. He makes to pull back but the thief's hands grip his hips, fingers pressing into the red that remains of Lula's handiwork, holding him in place until he comes down his throat with a hoarse cry. 

He swallows a few times, working him through the aftershocks, before Daniel finally pulls him back to his feet. 

Jack's painfully hard in his jeans, and after freeing him from the fabric's confines, it only takes a few short strokes to bring the younger man over the edge with a broken little sob. 

He brings Jack of with his hands and mouth two more times that night, each time the guilt returns, and in the morning he pretends he doesn't notice him slipping out of his room before the others can see.

* * *

Concern brings Merritt. 

The man's a mentalist, his entire existence revolves around observe the people nearby, so it's not too surprising that he figures it out.  

He pulls Daniel into his own room on quiet nights when the others are all using their own coping mechanism that  _aren't_ him. He says he knows about what he does for the others, says he notices the bruises and the hickeys and knowing looks. 

"What do you need, Merritt?" He asks, for the first time genuinely unsure in his question. Merritt only shakes his head. 

"I don't need anything from you, kid." He says, and Danny can't tell if he's lying or not, "Seems to me you've been focusing a lot on the rest of these divas." Danny can't help but smile then, and the older man looks like he's won something as he brushes a blessedly gentle hand beneath his jaw to get him to look up. "What do _you_ need?"

He doesn't answer, and yet Merritt figures it out. 

He carefully bandages the places Lula split his skin, presses soothing kisses to the outline of Dylan's hand on his throat, whispers reassurances he knows Daniel would never ask for as he smooths his thumbs over the marks Jack's left on his hips.

He works Danny open with tortuously slow fingers, stretching him until, for once,  _Danny's_ the one begging in a broken whisper. Maybe it's the mentalism that lets Merritt know exactly what Danny needs, but he doesn't really care why. All he can think about is making the moment last forever as Merritt finally fills him.

If there was ever a time for him to disprove the old 'three minutes' claim, it's now, because Merritt takes his time, wringing every bit of pleasure he can from Danny for what seems like  _hours,_ fucking him slow and gentle and lazy and it's too much and not enough all at once.

He whispers things in Danny's ears that make him blush and mutters curses so creative it makes him laugh and it feels ( ~~almost, _ **almost**_~~ ) like it could be something like love.

When he finally comes, it with Merritt's arms around him and his hand pulling at his cock to ease him through it, and he follows just a few seconds later.

He makes to leave in the morning, but is stopped by Merritt's hand on his wrist and a tired, grumbled order that he get his ass back in bed right this goddamn minute. He complies, and drifts back off with a small smile on his face.

* * *

He's not stupid. He knows this isn't actually fixing anything. He knows what he has with each of them is untenable, and in a few cases _toxic_ , but for now, he can do this. 

It's not fixing anything, but it's putting off the confrontations he knows will have to happen at some point. What they're doing is numbing the pain instead of treating the symptoms and it's bound to fall through. 

He knows this, he does.

But for now, he'll be what they need him to be.

 


End file.
